


All Things Lead to the City

by raewastaken (IWriteLove)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Bioshock AU, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Gore, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWriteLove/pseuds/raewastaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere over the mid Atlantic Ocean, in December of 1960, a plane traveling from The United States to England goes down without warning, and the sole survivor is a twenty year old American named Kerry Shawcross. Finding a strange lighthouse not far from the crash, the only hope he has now is the strange underwater dsytopia, Rapture, he's found himself in, and the guidance of the mysterious Felix.</p><p>But as fate would have it, all good things of this earth truly do flow to the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Things Lead to the City

**Author's Note:**

> i have been wanting to write a bioshock au since i first played it back in 2011 and immediately fell in love with the game, and i finally, FINALLY, feel like i have the proper skill to do so god bless america. so enjoy!

**December 1960 - Mid Atlantic**

* * *

Kerry's parents had been good people, kind to him his whole life. A working, business man father with kind eyes and a cheesy movie dad smile, a beautiful and hardworking housewife mother who used to kiss his skin elbows and bake him cookies in the summer. He had grown up pretty well off, he wasn't a stranger to the privilege he had. They were supportive, caring and always gently nudging him in the right direction. _"You can do anything, you were born to do great"_ was their motto, the mantra he heard from the time he was in elementary school with bruised knees and freckles littering his cheeks, all the way up to his graduation from high school. They truly believed in him, no matter what he did, and it helped him mold himself into the kind of man he was today, if twenty four counted as a man to anyone. Counted to him at least. Which was probably why he left the comforting embrace of his mother and the warm pat of the back of his father that morning for a flight across the ocean to visit distant relatives somewhere in The United Kingdom for the winter holidays. 

He didn't do planes well, if his sweat soaked palms and nervous churn in his gut were anything to go by. He and heights never got along, and just knowing they were so far off the ground, so high up, and over the sea, didn't help his anxious thoughts anymore. Kerry fiddled with photo in between his fingers, looking down at it, smiling fondly at the faces of his parents, him in the middle with his graduation cap and gown on, turning it over. _'Kerry Shawcross, June 1954. Graduation day!'_ , it read in the neat curves of his mother's handwriting, a small heart next to it. It was part of the gift for his relatives, a gift wrapped box sitting in his lap, a card resting under the neat bow on top, his name scribbled in cursive at the corner, the rest blocked by ribbon. Kerry hummed and played with the bow, tucking the photo back under the card, glancing up at the rest of the cabin. There was a thin screen of smoke from the cigarettes of people smoking around him, making him scrunch his nose a little and sighing, sitting back a bit to get comfortable and pulling the card out from the ribbon to read. At least it'd pass the time.

He didn't remember much after that, just shaking and screaming, flames and the sound of alarms, then the cold, cold embrace of the ocean water. Kerry's body was quickly drug under the freezing currents, eyes wide despite the sting of the salt, he watched a purse float by him, a long pearl necklace slowly descending into the dark depths, then the tail of the plane crashing in front of him. He sputtered underwater, large bubbles of air escaping his mouth, his lungs burning from the sudden lack of oxygen. He quickly paddled his way to the service, gasping loudly and gratefully as he hit air, the cold air hitting his face as he looked around quickly for anyone else. There were floating luggage suitcases, a few odds and ends like shoes and suit jackets from wealthy men. His panic rose sharply the more he looked, the realization of loneliness hitting him hard and fast. "H-Hello!" he called out to the wrecking, burning wreckage slowly sinking beneath the waves, his teeth starting to chatter. He caught a glimpse of lights in the near distance, a large, spinning beacon at the top of a dark pillar. A lighthouse. There had to be people there. Mustering all the energy and willpower he had, he swam over to it, feet kicking and arms paddling, suddenly wishing he did more than read books in school. Some sort of athletics would have come in handy now. 

By the time he had made it to the steps of the lighthouse, his entire body ached from the cold and exertion to swimming against the pull of the sinking plane, and he nearly collapsed when he finally made it to solid, stable ground, teeth chattering as he pulled his soaking wet body up the damp steps. He turned to sit, facing out toward the ocean, bringing his arms around himself, despite how little it helped, his breath coming in soft puffs in front of him. "I-Is anyone out there!" he called, listening, desperately for an answer. Did anyone else survive? Was he the only one? He shivered violently, before grabbing the edge of the half wall next to him, pulling himself to his feet properly. He should get inside, lest he freeze to death on the steps of a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean. Surely someone would see the flames in the distance, and someone would come save him, right? He couldn't possibly end up dying out here all alone. He held his arms closer and headed to the door of the lighthouse, his shoes padding wetly against the cobble. The doors were ornate, large and brushed with gold, if his eye was anything to go by. He never saw a light house so decorated, but then again, it's not like he really traveled much. A single door was cracked open, the bluish, hazy light filtering in through the crack and illuminating a sliver, but other than that, the inside looked as dark as the ocean, and a trickle of fear ran down his spine. 

This was dangerous, Kerry knew; what was to say a person in there was even in their right mind, if there even was anyone in there. The beacon at the top was working fine, sure, but it didn't look like anyone was home, to say. He worried his bottom lip between his chattering teeth, the chill seeping into his bones. It'd be warmer inside, and he didn't want to die out here. He carefully peeked his head inside, heart racing into overdrive, before stepping inside properly. "H-Hello?" he called out, shivering and walking forward a few, hesitant steps. "T-There was a p-plane crash and I-" His words were cut short as the slow, omnious creak of the door behind him closing echoed around the walls, and he turned on a heel quickly, rushing to catch it before it slammed close, enveloping him in darkness. No no no. He reached up to bang on the doors, before there was a loud click, slowly lights illuminating the inside, and he turned again, eyes running around his new surroundings. A large bronze bust of a man was the first thing that caught his eye, imposing and intimidating, and even larger red banner hung in front with the golden words stitched in; ' _No Gods or Kings, Only Man'_. Kerry's spine tingled uncomfortably at the implications, before looking around a bit more, anything to get his eyes off. There were decorations depicting fish and waves placed upon the walls, the same bluish light radiating off of the lamps. His shivering had calmed down a bit, the interior much warmer than the outside. 

He looked around for a staircase, anything leading up to the top, hopefully to where someone was that could help, but he didn't see one. His hopes started sinking as he circled around the bust, before coming to a pair of archways, darkened by shadows, and he hesitated. He didn't have much else to lose. He carefully stepped into the one on the right, nearly jumping out of his skin as another set of lights flicked on above him and lit up the small area. There was a set of stairs at his feet leading down, and he frowned a little. Down? He stepped forward, carefully leading himself downward, before he turned to his left to see more darkened areas. His fear melted away quickly as more lights turned on, and his eyes adjusted to the slightly brighter lights, looking around. Plaques on the wall read Industry, Art and Science in bold letters with designs above each, the slosh of water against concert reaching his ears as he turned. In the middle, below him and down the staircases on both sides, there was a round submarine sitting in the water, swaying gently with the waves, a soft tune filtering out from it. Music meant a radio, right? Surely he could call from help. He tried not to race down the steps in a feverish panic, his shoes and clothes still wet with ocean water, and he didn't want to tempt his fate. He survived a plane crash into the middle of the ocean, but he didn't want to run the risk of his luck running out and him slipping and cracking his head on the stone below.

When he reached the bottom, he quickly made his way to the radio, stopping a moment to look over the small room he was about to step into. It had plush, red benches on the side, and the radio was sitting on the wall just inside, tempting him with the soft music. He took nervous, cautious steps forward into it, feet squeaking softly against the wooden floor, before he picked up the radio, looking it over. He took some brief, brief lessons in communication technology, and his father taught him a thing or two growing up, and his heart bottomed out. It was just a short wave radio, and it was probably picking up a signal from somewhere above him in the lighthouse where he couldn't get. He couldn't call for help on this; there's no way it'd reach far enough. He lowered himself onto one of the benches, his feet aching all at once from how tired he was, eyes heavy and still burning from salty water, and wondered what to do. There wasn't anyway he'd survive swimming out in the ocean for long, not with how old and unforgiving the Atlantic waters were, and he didn't know how long the inferno would go on outside, if the wreckage would even be visible to anyone flying overhead. He couldn't radio anyone for help, and he didn't even truly know where he was, or if anyone knew there was a crash in the first place. Kerry's thoughts drifted to his parents, the smiling face of his mother, the proud stature of his father, wondering, briefly, if he'd ever see them again, or if he'd rot away in a strange light house, alone and cold. 

He glanced up, eyes catching sight of a lever situated between the two benches, and he pondered for a moment. He didn't have much else to lose, considering his circumstances, but the fear of the unknown lurking beyond a pull of the lever frightened him. He wasn't an adventurous person, and this was enough for him to last a lifetime. Kerry's hand hesitated as he laid it upon the handle, before throwing all inhibitions to the sea and pulling it down, turning with a jump as a loud clang accompanied the glass-fronted hatch that sealed in front of him, his fear skyrocketing as he watched the world pass by in front of him, carefully standing up to go rest a hand on the glass, watching as ornate statues passed by, words etched above. Ten fathoms. Eighteen fathoms. How deep was he going to go under the ocean?

The static interruption of the music on the radio made him jump and he frowned, listening as a chipper tune began playing, a screen lowering itself in front of the window as a projector clicked on above him. An add displayed itself onto the thin, taunt cloth in front of him, a man with his finger on fire, lighting a cigarette between a woman's fingers, the worlds _'Fire at your fingertips! Incinerate! Plasmids by Burns Industries'_ above and below the image. He frowned. Plasmids? Burns Industries? He wasn't sure if that was just a clever pun, or not, but his thoughts came screeching to a halt as the image changed to a proud man sitting at a desk chair next to ' _From the desk of Burns'_. He assumed this man was Burns, his assumptions proved correct as a pre-recorded message began playing onto the short wave radio in his hands.

"I am Michael Burns, and I'm here to ask you a question," it began, and Kerry's skin began to crawl already. He sounded like he was from back home, in the states. He seemed important and powerful, so why hadn't Kerry ever heard of him? "Is a man not entitled to the sweat on his brow?" The projection changed; a farmer, pressing a cloth to his forehead, sweating with a backdrop of a farm house on a sunny day, before it switched to the man being chased by a bald eagle. "No, says the man in Washington, it belongs to the poor." Another change, to a large hand descending down from the heavens over the man. "No, says the man in the Vatican, it belongs to God." It changed again, the hammer and sickle Kerry immediately recognized from the red and gold flags of the Soviet Union. "No, says the man in Moscow, it belongs to everyone." His stomach was starting to churn nervously. This man had some radical thinking, nothing like he had ever seen back home.

The projection changed again, back to the image of him sitting in a chair, looking as important and powerful as he spoke over the recording. "I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose..." Kerry's eyes went wide as the screen went back up, revealing a dazzling city, neons and fish coexisting amongst the towering buildings, his hands pressing against the glass once again. He had never seen anything like this. Was this even real, or was he passed out cold on the steps of the lighthouse? Or was he sleeping in bed, at home and warm under the covers. He watched the fish swim by as he lowered into the city. "Rapture. A city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small." The small sub he was in floated up under a bridge, a large, imposing figure on the inside welding away at the metal that was no doubt keeping the tunnel together. "And with the sweat on your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."

The recording cut out, and Kerry gaped at the sites passing before him, before another transmission was picked up, one he could barely hear over the static. 

"...but the lighthouse is lit up like hellfire... looks like some sort of plane crash..." the first voice said, and he sounded young, probably as old as Kerry was himself, and he turned, picking up the radio to hold it to his ear so he could hear it better, watching out the window. Large neon signs about the various businesses insides cast colored lights across his face, one reading proudly _'Castillo's Collection'_ , some kind of art gallery by the _'fine art'_ it read underneath. Kerry's brows scrunched up.

"...we're in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, how could it-" a second voice came through, another man, sounding even younger than the first. He had to be at least eighteen. 

"I dunno..." the first voice mused again. "You better get over there, and be quick about it. The Splicers are coming," he warned, and Kerry's skin crawled. Splicers?

He heard a noise of confusion. "You've _got_ to be kidding! How do you even know someone's coming!"

"Cause we got a bathysphere on it's way down. That means we've got company."

The radio clicked to silence, and Kerry glanced upward as dazzled, bright neons illuminated themselves in front of him as he passed through metal rings, probably some system meant to guide this... bathysphere? Is that what he had called it? Kerry's brown eyes scanned over the words, and his stomach churned in dread as he did.

_'All good things of this earth flow into the city'_

It was another moment of quite trepidation before the shortwave radio picked up another signal; security being alerted, how this man's partner- Caleb?- had to hurry up before he got into trouble, and before Kerry could realize, he was being gently floated up, the water draining off the top and obscuring a clear view of the dark scene in front of him. He saw a man, his hands out in front of him, slowly backing away with easy steps. "P-Please, lady... I-I didn't mean to trepass..." he pleaded quietly, and Kerry squinted to try and see what he was trying to negotiate with, but all he saw was the dark shadow of a crouched figure, glowing hooks illuminating themselves very slowly. His gut churned. "Just don't... hurt me... Just let m-me go..." The man was almost at the front of the bathysphere now, his hands up even more in surrender. "You can keep my gun! You ca-" 

His words cut off immediately as the crouched figure darted forword, and there was the sickening sound of liquid hitting concrete as the man gurgled, his arms moving to cover his stomach, the lights flickering enough overhead that the scene was plunged into darkness. They flickered back on long enough for Kerry to see the man shake his head, holding his hand out, before the creature, grimmy and bloody, the look in their eyes pure bloodlust, lurch forward again, burying their hooks into the man's stomach. Kerry felt his own gut churn sickly, and he could feel bile at the back of his throat, moving a hand quickly to cover his mouth. The creature let the man suffer, his gurgling and broken pleas silenced the moment the creature slid its hooks out of his skin, spraying blood across the glass and causing Kerry to drop the shortwave radio with a thud, moving back before he got truly sick.

The noise of the radio clattering to the floor and his own choked out, frightened sobs, coupled with the flickering lights illuminating him just enough as the creature looked over, got its attention, and he felt his blood run cold. It moved in front of him, looking through the glass. "Is it someone new?" it asked, its voice sounding female enough to him, but there wasn't anyway that was a human. For a split second, all he could feel was cold fear running through his body, before it let out a high pitched shriek, jumping up out of Kerry's sight, before there was a loud crash and the bathysphere rocked, throwing Kerry onto one of the nearby benches, head banging against the corner and causing stars to form in front of his eyes. He took a moment to hold his head, before there were sounds of scraping metal against metal, sparks flying out from his corner of the sphere and he scrambled away from it, leaving the radio where it felt and curling up behind the lever, hands moving to his ears and covering them as the shrieks continued, the sway making his stomach churn again, not that it had really settled in the first place. It was a moment of panicked chaos and fear shooting through his body, rendering him frozen where he sat, curling in like a child hiding from monsters under their bed, before the sway stilled slowly, and with one last angry, frustrated scream, the creature bounded away. There was a moment of still silence, before the radio buzzed, and that same voice he had heard earlier coming through.

"Hey, uh, are you in there? If... If you are, would you kindly pick up the shortwave radio?" the voice asked, and Kerry hesitantly moved a bit closer to the front hatch to grab it, before slinking back into his hiding spot behind the lever, shaking again slightly as sparks illuminated the sphere's interior. 

"W-Who are you?" Kerry choked out, his eyes and cheeks still wet with tears, his hands shaking as he clutched the radio. "W-Where a-am I a-and w-what was that _t-thing_?"

"Christ, you're alive," the voice exclaimed excitedly, before clearing his throat. "Look, I can explain later, but we need to get you out of there, and somewhere safer. My name's Felix, and I'm going to do what I can to keep you alive, alright? What's your name?"

Kerry managed to calm his ragged, frightened breathing, before swallowing thickly. "K-Kerry. My name's Kerry Shawcross."

Felix clicked his tongue, and for a second he wondered who this man was, and why he wanted to help him. "Are you from that plane crash?"

Kerry nodded, like he could see him, then flushed embarrassed. "Y-Yeah, I did... I-I was on my way to visit family a-and it crashed..." he told Felix, his voice shaking a little. "I-I want to go home..."

"I can help you get home, Kerry, don't worry," he said, and it comforted Kerry a bit, gave him enough of a push to shakily stand up on his own two feet, using the lever for support, nearly jumping when the hatch to the front of the bathysphere opened. "Alright, I need you to take a deep breath and step out. And don't worry, I'm not going to leave you twisting in the wind, here." Kerry's legs shook in fear as he took careful, hesitant steps forward out of the bathysphere, whatever he ate on the plane threatening to come back up as his foot hit the dead body of the kid that monster killed. He clutched the radio like it was his life support, hands shaking nervously as he glanced around the darkened area. There were blood stains on the carpet, discarded picket signs and suitcases left on luggage racks. "Alright, you won't like this idea, but we need to draw her out of hiding, Kerry."

The idea left a cold stone sunk in Kerry's gut. "N-No way!" he said immediately. "I-I don't want to see that thing again."

"You need to trust me, Kerry," Felix said, and Kerry swallowed nervously, thickly, the bile and food resting in his stomach still threatening to rise up, and he held the radio tighter. "I promise, I won't let you get killed. Just head up the stairs. I promise, Kerry, nothing bad will happen to you. I won't let it."

Kerry hesitated for a moment, before following Felix's advice, heading toward the stares at the end of the pathway, his steps slow and quiet, his entire body freezing and bristling with every sound and clang, hands still shaking visibly as he held the radio, glancing around at the new area he was in. There were TVs set up along the wall, every one of them displaying static, and there was a large board that read out times for trips long since passed. Kerry swallowed nervously, walking toward a barricade made toward the middle of the room, eyes glancing at the sign sitting straight up out of it. _'Burns doesn't OWN us'_.

His attention fell from the sign as he heard a clatter and the creature from before drop down on the other side of the barricade, its eyes on him as it snarled, before there was a bright light and an alarm, the creature shrieking in horror and trying to cover its face, jumping away as the sound of bullet came closer, a small flying bot shooting at the creature with a small turret. Kerry clutched the radio and moved back, watching the bot fly off as the creature disappeared, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. "Now that that's taken care of," Felix mused over his radio, and Kerry's nerves slowly dissolved. At least he had one person he could trust here. "Would you kindly find a... crowbar, or a wrench or something. Those damn Splicers sealed Caleb in and... _Goddamn_ _Splicers_."

Kerry moved forward slowly, carefully going over the barricade. The light from an above security cam lit up the area, and he could see an opened toolbax next to a hole in the debris covered doorway, its contains spilled out and a red wrench sitting next to it. "Uh... Splicers are... those the creatures?"

"Yeah," Felix said. "It'd be better to arm yourself against them."

The blond hesitantly picked up the crowbar off the ground, looking over it and chewing his lip. "I found a wrench?"

"That'll have to work for now," his companion stated. "Get into the next room and I'll guide you from there."

Kerry clipped the radio to his belt, turning the wrench over in his hands. It was heavy, there was no denying that, and he wasn't exactly strong. He just hoped it would be enough to keep him from getting ripped open like Felix's friend Caleb. He got down on his knees and tried to wiggle his way through the hole left between the debris, his radio nearly getting caught but he pulled it off his belt and set it in front of himself before pulling his way through, standing up and dusting himself off. He felt a lot safer just by having something to defend himself with, but that lingering fear of what was to come left his nerves on edge. He looked up the stairs when he heard a coughing, only to yelp and barely dodge a couch coming toward him on fire, jumping to the wall and hugging it. There were more screams and yells in the room above him and whatever courage he had before faltered immediately as he saw a figure run in front of the doorway at the top of the stairs. He took a long, hard inhale, offering up a silent prayer in case he didn't make it, before ascending the steps slowly, making it to the top and immediately ducking as someone swung a pipe at him. He stumbled back a little after he stood up straighter, before his eyes widened as he saw what attacked him, a grotesque looking man, his face and body disfigured with fleshy growths, a thick layer of dirt and blood covering his skin and clothes. He left out another yell before charging at Kerry again, and Kerry barely had time to process what he was doing before he lifted the wrench, hitting the man across the head with a sickening crack of his skull, watching him fall to the floor in a silent, motionless heap.

It took Kerry a moment of standing there, panting and shaking, blood dripping from the end of his wrench, before he dropped it and scrambled back away from the body, his hands immediately coming up to cover his mouth before he let out a broken scream, tears filling his eyes and falling down his cheeks. He killed that man. He actually killed him. He never killed anyone, hell even anything, before; he was on the one who always hesitated when it came to killing spiders, scooping them up in cups and letting them outside instead. But he swung his wrench and cracked this poor man's head wide open, and now he lay dead, blood oozing out of the large wound on his skull. Kerry felt sick all at once, his gut churning and he barely had time to run to the trashcan sitting next to the stairs before he emptied his stomach into it, heaving dryly for a moment after as he sobbed, hands shaking as he clutched the outside rim, panting and sobbing softly.

"Hey, bud, you there?" came Felix's voice from the radio. Kerry shakily reached back, grabbing it off of his belt and pulling it toward himself. "I... Please don't be dead, Kerry."

"I-I'm not," Kerry said shakily into the radio, his stomach threatening to empty anything left in it at all. "I-I'm not dead... I... I had to kill s-someone..." he admitted quietly, before he sobbed, moving to sit on the ground, bringing his hands up to cover his face as he cried. 

"Kerry, hey," Felix said. "Look, you didn't kill anyone."

"I-It was a man, b-but he came at me with a led pipe and-"

"It wasn't human, Kerry."

Kerry whimpered. "He l- _looked_ human."

"It _wasn't_ ," Felix said, his voice stern, but gentle. "I know this is tough, but you can't sit there and accept defeat like this. I promised I'd help you, right? I plan to honor that promise."

Kerry sniffled and wiped at his face. "Y-Yeah... T-Tell me what to do next," he said, getting to his feet carefully, his stomach hurting a little now at how empty it was, looking around. The room was small, a double staircase both leading up to a floor overlooking the room, and there was a busted machine in front of him, the door control next to it fried and sparking. "The only way out is broken."

"Dammit," Felix cursed quietly, before Kerry heard a few papers being moved about. "Oh, oh, wait. There should be a Gather's Garden above you? Get up there and see if there's any Electrobolt left."

"Electro- _what_?" Kerry asked. One staircase up was completely blocked off by furniture, so he went up the other one on the right. "I don't think that was even English."

"Plasmids," Felix said simply, and as he did, Kerry looked up, seeing a huge ad for the very thing Miles was talking about. ' _Pick your Plasmid and evolve!_ ' it read and Kerry made a face.

"There should be at least one upstairs."

Kerry hummed to himself and headed up to the top, nervously glancing at a shining red bottle sitting in a pink machine, two large-headed Plastic bobblehead type figures of little girls standing on either side. He scrunched his nose up and put the radio back on his belt, grabbing it and frowning as he looked it over. The bottle was simple enough, although the liquid inside was putting him off. It was glowing, a bright red color, something he knew liquid was not supposed to do under normal circumstances. Next to the bottle was an empty hypodermic needle and his face went pale, grabbing his radio to call Felix. "You don't expect me to... inject this stuff do you?" he asked nervously. 

"That's the only way," Felix told him, not sugarcoating it at all. Kerry frowned. 

"Felix, it's glowing. There's no way I'm putting this in me," he said. He didn't mind needles so much, always sitting quietly and patiently as he got shots at the doctors. The prick wasn't much to really set him into a frenzy like it knew it did so many others his age. But this wasn't a shot, this was a dose of some fucked up looking liquid that Kerry was honestly scared was going to kill him from the inside out.

Felix sighed over the radio. "Would you kindly, _please_ , just take the Plasmid."

Kerry huffed and frowned. "Fine, fine, alright," he said, picking up the empty hypo and drawing out the red liquid into it. Every last drop fit inside the vial and he debated chickening out for a split second, before rolling up the sleeve of his sweater, positioning the needle where he knew he'd had blood drawn before, hesitating for a moment. This was probably going to kill him, but Felix sounded so sure of it. He didn't want to make him think that he didn't trust him or anything, especially since he seemed like the only one left down here with some shred of common sense (and to a degree _humanity_ , if the track record so far was anything to go by). He inhaled deeply, before pressing the tip of the needle into vein, quickly pressing down on the top.

It felt like fire in his veins, a white hot seering pain erupting in his arm and he nearly collapsed, screaming out and dropping the hypo once all the liquid was gone. There were stars and red flashes in his eyes, his vision blurring and spinning as it felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside, tiny bits of himself torn apart and put back together again. He leaned against the railing of the balcony overhanging the room below, looking as blue streaks of lightning moved between his hands, hearing Felix's voice over the radio. "Hey, hey, easy there, easy. It's alright, just stay still and it'll pass," he tried to sooth him, but it fell on deaf ears. Kerry's vision blacked around the corners, and before he could probably realize it and catch himself, he was falling over the railing and landing as a heap of limbs on the floor below.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on tumblr!](http://seanspooles.co.vu)


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